The Fiddler & the {Splat} on a Hot Tin Roof

This story is a team effort, from the minds of wunderkind Michael Alexander Gural-Maiello and his cool dad, Michael Maiello.

There was a guy who wanted to prove to the world that fiddlers do more than just play violins. His name was The Fiddler. People in town most recognized him for his violins, but he was also known as a gentle man with a pretty adventurous side. For The Fiddler thought the best way to fiddle was to be high up in the sky.

The Fiddler lived in a small town, without mountains or even tall trees. There were also no houses higher than a floor-and-a-half, and even those were rare. This was a basement town, where hard working people lived underground.

The town had a fiddling club that met once a month to put bow to string. That was what had brought The Fiddler in from the big city.

His fiddle had been passed on through generations of his family. Nobody knew which ancestor had discovered it or how they’d obtained it, but the fiddle was Austrian, and the Fiddler took pride in that. But in the little town, they called it Australian, no matter how many times The Fiddler corrected them. The Fiddler couldn’t stand the townspeople’s mistake, so he named his instrument “Fiddle Til You’ve Fiddled More Than A Little.” This made people think it was definitely Australian.

So the Fiddler decided to have a concert where he would perform his album, “High in the Sky.”

But he needed a place to perform, one with a high-up stage. There was one building in town that towered over the rest. It was called Pizza Hut. For some reason, it was 50 stories tall. We know, we said the houses were a story-and-a-half at most, but this was not a house, it was a hut.

So there he was, at 11 A.M., and a crowd had gathered below. The sun had blazed across the hut’s tin roof. The Fiddler, who had eaten several personal pan pizzas for breakfast, had kicked off his shoes to relax. The tin burned his feet.

“Owwwww!” he squealed.

“Owwwwww!” chanted the crowd, thinking it was his act.

They loved him! They copied his every move and cheered for more.

So he tried to fiddle. But his feet burned. He stomped his feet and ran around and around, trying to play his fiddle and making crazy sounds. The audience adored it, and thought he could dance. They were also confused, as he was not playing his album at all. He was jumping, and screaming, and about to fall.

The Fiddler reached the end of the roof and the crowd erupted in cheers. He danced toward the noise, the sun searing his hooves, and that was that.

Splat!